///*****/// [Overture] In the mural chamber where faces from vanished civilizations stare through cracked paint. Lyra imagines herself aging while Eldrin remains unchanged, then sees grief already ancient in his eyes. The old war enters on a drumbeat, but another rhythm waits beneath it. [Verse I] She accuses him of treating love as a future wound and refuses to become a life he mourns before living it. Steel gives every frightened answer the same hard voice, yet the ground receives the blood without asking which language named it. I carry the weight of orders and the quieter weight of doubt. Somewhere beyond the visible battle, a patient hand adjusts the board. [Pre-Chorus] Mortality makes her impulsive, but not shallow; she wants the dignity of being chosen without guarantees. If conscience is a wound, let it remain open until truth enters. [Chorus] Do not bury me before I breathe Do not mourn what we may be Love is not a length of years It is the hand that enters fear Do not bury me before I breathe Do not mourn what we may be Love is not a length of years It is the hand that enters fear [Verse II] Eldrin admits that elves fear endings so deeply they often avoid beginnings. What seemed like chance reveals a door; what seemed like duty reveals a chain. Every remembered face becomes a witness standing wordlessly behind the choice. The future is not promised, only placed within reach of hands prepared to change. [Bridge] Your endless road can still be empty My shorter path can still be wide Choose me while the door is open Not as a ghost kept at your side Let the drums fall back and leave one naked heartbeat in the hall. Let the smallest act of mercy challenge every monumental lie. [Guitar Solo] Begin with the melodic color of lyra imagines herself aging while eldrin remains unchanged; climb through the tension of mortality makes her impulsive, but not shallow; let two guitar voices disagree, listen, and finally discover a shared phrase. [Final Chorus] Do not bury me before I breathe Do not mourn what we may be Love is not a length of years It is the hand that enters fear We will not feed tomorrow with the ashes of today. Do not bury me before I breathe Do not mourn what we may be Love is not a length of years It is the hand that enters fear [Coda] He says her name without rank or race She answers with his, stripped of command The mural's ancient eyes grow bright As if blessing what crowns forbade [Echo] Lyra imagines herself aging while Eldrin remains unchanged, then sees grief already ancient in his eyes. [Inner Voice] Mortality makes her impulsive, but not shallow; she wants the dignity of being chosen without guarantees. [Narrative Turn] Eldrin admits that elves fear endings so deeply they often avoid beginnings. The colors of wine red, piano black, cold silver, and a small hopeful gold move across the scene like a second, wordless choir.
